only, blow that life could deal Septimus May. He was stricken
suddenly, fearfully with his unutterable loss; but his agony turned
into prayer while he knelt beside his son. He prayed with a fiery
intensity and a resonant vibration of voice that scorched rather
than comforted the woman who knelt beside him. The fervor of the
man's emotion and the depth of his conviction, running like a
torrent through the narrow channels of his understanding, were
destined presently to complicate a situation sufficiently painful
without intervention; for a time swiftly came when Septimus May
forced his beliefs upon Chadlands and opposed them to the opinions
of other people as deeply concerned as himself to explain the death
of his son.

Mr. May, learning that most of the house party could not depart
until the following morning, absented himself from dinner; indeed,
he spent his time almost entirely with his boy, and when night
came kept vigil beside him. Something of the strange possession
of his mind already appeared, in curious hints that puzzled Sir
Walter; but it was not until after the post-mortem examination
and inquest that his extraordinary views were elaborated.

Millicent Fayre-Michell and her uncle were the first to depart on
the following day. The girl harbored a grievance.

"Surely Mary might have seen me a moment to say 'Good-bye,'" she
said. "It's a very dreadful thing, but we've been so sympathetic
and understanding about it that I think they ought to feel rather
grateful. They might realize how trying it is for us, too. And
to let me go without even seeing her--she saw Mrs. Travers over
and over again."